Storm of Arranon Fire and Ice (27 page)

“I should start at the beginning.” Erynn
grimaced. “This will take a while.”

“We’ve got time.” Cera confirmed her position
on the NAV screen and returned her attention to the clear forward
panel.

Erynn understood how easily one could get
lost out here. “I’m an Interceptor fighter pilot from Korin.”

Cera’s eyes widened. She grinned around the
thick stub poking from her lips, but remained quiet. Eager
anticipation rolled from her.

“Deanaim is the oldest known settlement on
Arranon.” Erynn bit her lip, unsure of how much to tell. This woman
was going to want hard answers to difficult questions. Some Erynn
didn’t have, and some she didn’t want to share. “I was in Deanaim
with a companion, searching for information.” She took in a breath
and hurried on. “I found a hatch in one of the buildings and opened
it. Inside, a ladder led underground.”

Cera chuckled. “Let me guess. You climbed
down?”

Erynn stared at Cera. “Yes. I did.”

“And what did you find?” Cera’s expression
sobered. The cidag rolled.

“Socar Batahs and Shifters.” Erynn continued
to study Cera’s face. “An entire village with families, homes, and
businesses.”

Cera’s hands tightened on the controls. “Just
what kind of information were you trying to find, Erynn?”

“I’m searching for the four portals that
connect the two realms.”

Cera snorted and the grin returned. “Those
portals don’t exist. The stories of Dhoran…they were only tales
made up to frighten children into behaving.”

Sunlight stayed against the horizon. The sky
never darkened. The sun climbed, rising again, hidden under thick
clouds. This was the upper pole of the planet, and the season was
mid to late summer.

Erynn opened her awareness to Cera’s
emotions. “What if the stories aren’t made up? What if they’re
real?” Fear eddied from Cera in a slow swirl and disappeared.

“Just because you found Socar Batahs and
Shifters doesn’t mean Dhoran is real.” Cera shook her head. Her jaw
muscles bunched. Her grip on the cidag tightened. She squinted in
Erynn’s direction. “
If
Dhoran was ever real, he’s long dead
by now.”

Erynn nodded. “I suppose you’re correct.” She
wondered if Cera ever lit the cidag.

Cera frowned. “That doesn’t explain how you
ended up here.”

“When I climbed back up the ladder and pushed
through the hatch, I came out not far from where you found me.”
Erynn shook her head. “I can’t explain how it happened.” Her brow
creased. “How did you find me?”

Cera chuffed and pulled the cidag from
between her teeth. “There was a daheln of an electrical storm, the
likes of which I’ve never seen. Decided to check it out.” She
stared at Erynn. The creases around Cera’s eyes deepened. Her tan
face, toughened by years of harsh weather, was a map of fine
crisscrossed lines. “The storm vanished when you appeared on my
scanner. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” She
popped the mushy end of the cidag back between her teeth and
chewed.

“No.” Erynn turned to fully face the forward
panel. Heat burned up her neck and into her cheeks.

Ahead in the storm dark day, bright lights
blinked on in the distance, a steady beacon to the approaching
transports.

A settlement materialized beneath the bright
glow. Curved roofs of sturdy metal huts reflected the radiance of
the overhead lights. Passageways connected one massive structure
with two smaller ones. A bay door to the larger building opened,
and the transports lumbered into a long wide space. Hard packed
snow formed an icy floor. The camp appeared temporary. Everything
could be broken down into smaller components, stowed in transports,
and moved as necessary. Engines grumbled in a disjointed chorus and
one by one cut off until the resulting silence caused Erynn’s
eardrums to thrum.

Erynn studied the steel tables lining one
wall of the well-lighted building. Hoses suspended from the ceiling
dripped on the frosty worktop. Drain pipes every two meters under
the table emptied into an ice-encrusted trench. “What are you doing
here, Cera?”

Cera smiled and released her restraining
straps. “Braefin. The ocean lies just beyond our camp. My top
cruiser, the Wind Dancer, and her crew will go out again after
we’ve restocked provisions.” She pushed out of the seat and
straightened with pride. “I’m the captain. That’s where we’ve been,
selling the braefin and buying supplies so we can catch more.” She
stared out the forward panel. “Braefin netting is a dangerous job.
If you don’t stay alert—watch the wind and the sea—you’re dead. But
it’s also exciting and extremely profitable.” Cera patted Erynn on
the shoulder. “I wouldn’t trade it for any other profession. Not
even flying an Interceptor.”

“I believe you’d make a good Interceptor
pilot.” Erynn unbuckled and followed Cera’s lead.

Cera nearly choked. “What? Me?” She shook her
head and adjusted the cidag with her teeth. “I’m not the
structured, order-taking, live-by-the-book type. I’m more the ‘face
each day with a new set of rules and fly by the seat of my pants’
kind.” She wove through the crates to the hatch, entered a code on
the number pad, and stepped back.

The door once again hissed and popped. The
ramp flew open and slammed the ground with a solid crash on the
packed snow.

“I gotta get that fixed one of these days,”
Cera mumbled. She trotted down the steep grated metal of the
ramp.

Erynn’s forward motion took her down the
slope too quickly. She jumped to the level ground at the bottom.
Her feet slid out from under her on the icy surface, and she landed
on the hard, cold snowpack with her legs splayed in front of
her.

Cera chuckled silently, her body shaking.
“It’s a good thing walking isn’t a necessary skill for flying.”

Men and women, occupants of the other
transports, gathered. Murmuring among themselves, they stared down
at Erynn.

One moved forward, smiling. He held his hand
out to help her up. “Erynn Yager. I never imagined finding you way
out here.”

“Me neither.” Erynn took the offered
assistance and was pulled upright. With her feet solidly under her,
she gazed at the man who’d helped her. “Do I know you?”

He shook his head. His dark, uneven
shoulder-length hair swung with his efforts. His grin faded. His
blue eyes darkened. “You wouldn’t remember me. There was too much
going on. I was on the last shuttle off the alien ship with you and
Major Faylen. I owe more than I can ever repay to Major Faylen. And
you.” The smile returned and his whole face brightened. “I have an
incredible life now.”

The cidag was quickly plucked from Cera’s
teeth. “This is her? The one they called Bakaron? The one you tell
the stories about?” She laughed and clapped Erynn on the back. “You
didn’t tell me this, Erynn Yager.” Cera glanced around at her crew.
Her mood changed, and she sobered. “This is more than just a
foolish quest to find some fictional portals isn’t it? What do you
know that we don’t?”

Erynn took a step, tested her footing, and
glanced up at Cera. “Another long story. I don’t suppose your
communication equipment is strong enough for me to contact my, uh,
unit?”

Cera shook her head. “There’s no
communication past Tiatac, the village base where we get our
supplies. I’m afraid you’re stuck here for a while. Quite a while.”
She grinned. “Look at it this way, there’s plenty of time for lots
of long stories.”

CERA AND HER CREW TOOK the transports out
beyond the camp to the coast, delivering the majority of the
provisions to the ship.

Erynn tried her hand with the communication
equipment, in an attempt to contact anyone who could deliver a
message to the base, to Cale…to Jaer. Cera was right. Erynn was
unable to reach even the closest outpost at Tiatac.

Now she waited alone, leaning on a short
counter in the kitchen/dining hut. Peeling drab-green paint sprayed
over old pitted insulation sapped the glow from the single overhead
fixture. The heating unit cycled and the light dimmed, draining
what color there was, leaving the interior of the room dreary, in
restrained shades of gray-green.

In the center of the space stood a long metal
table with chairs scattered in two uneven rows under the dull
reflective surface. Shadows formed underneath and in the corners.
Dark shapes, real or imagined, cowered and pressed their elusive
misshapen bodies away from the meager light. They breathed in
whispered respirations masked by the wind and watched from eyes
hidden in folds of murky blackness.

Movement at the periphery of Erynn’s vision
stilled when her gaze darted from one side of the room to the
other. Phantom motions blended into solid matter—a ragged chair, a
stack of disks next to the open leg space of a desk, a jacket
discarded in a heap on the floor.

Water dripped with a ping, ping, ping in a
deep metal sink behind her. The cloying scent of rotting food
waiting for recycling drifted from a square receptacle. A stronger,
more pleasant aroma from a large pot simmering on the cooktop
ultimately prevailed.

Erynn bit her lower lip and glanced around.
“Enough. It’s just a room.” She chuckled. “A dismal, creepy, spooky
room, perfect for the telling of ghost stories.” Her chortle
morphed into a barking chuff. “I have a few of those to pass
along.”

Wind whistled and a vent slat banged in the
roof. The creak of a hinge in the outer passage was followed by
muted footsteps. Cold air swirled inside under the kitchen door and
through gaps in the frame until the entrance into the passage
beyond slammed shut.

The mood of the crew was subdued when they
entered. One by one, they stomped into the dining area from the
cramped kitchen. Their boots left melting snow to puddle in smeared
footprints. In silence, gloves were pulled off, and jackets hung on
pegs driven into the crumbling insulation. Each nodded at Erynn,
taking seats in tattered furniture along one wall or at the rickety
chairs around the table.

The topic of conversation while stowing the
supplies on the ship had centered on Erynn’s necessity to get back
to her base. This was more than a guess on Erynn’s part. She could
sense their single-minded concentration. No one had questioned her
reason for this before they left. But it was obvious they had
discussed her need.

What conclusion had they come to
?

Cera strode into the room to the end of the
table. She pulled out a chair. The legs rasped against the grated
steel floor. She dropped her tall, sturdy frame into a seat that
protested with a squeal of stressed metal.

In the kitchen, drawers opened with a
screech. Utensils rattled and cupboards banged shut. The clatter of
dishes and the scent of cooking gave the space an almost homey
atmosphere.

Almost.

A lanky woman with long, faded blonde hair
set out bowls and tossed spoons in their general vicinity. Those
not already settled at the table took their places.

Erynn found an empty chair.

An old man came from the kitchen carrying a
deep pot, his big hands swathed in towels. He wore a greasy white
apron over his extra-large tan jumpsuit. “You can’t travel Star
Point Strait on land this time of year.” He grinned at Erynn.
Crooked yellow teeth showed under a long gray mustache blending
into an unkempt beard. He set the heavy pot down in the center of
the metal table. The legs groaned under the added weight.

Erynn believed he looked like a friendly
giant in a children’s Leannan story. She chuffed quietly.

I still think of Arranon as a magical
place. Well, isn’t it
?

She smiled—partially at her wild imagination
and in part to return the big man’s honest emotion. He was
protective of her. A concerned sensation surrounded Erynn, drifting
up and down her like slow, gentle waves. Emotions of comfort
enfolded her in a silken cocoon, a bubble of shelter.

“You’ll fall through the ice.” He nodded with
decisiveness and took the lid off the large pot.

Steam billowed out, settling in a misty vapor
over the table.

“Braefin stew,” the old man growled.

The crew responded with loud moans. Some sat
back on the folding chairs, their arms crossed, and rolled their
eyes.

“Jeez, Brock. Is that all you know how to
cook?”

“We just brought in supplies.”

“What about the achcear or the bovie steaks
we came back with?”

“Is there at least fresh bread?”

Brock stood with his hands on his hips,
glaring over the table at the malcontents. Wispy strands of
gray-white hair had escaped the leather tie at his neck and
fluttered over his face as he breathed. “Everything’s been stowed
on the ship. You can eat the fancy stuff when you get off your lazy
butts and put in an honest day’s work again.”

Cera sat at the head of the table watching
the exchange, the ever present cidag nowhere to be seen. “There’s
the Anaekta Strait.” She pushed up from the chair and stepped to
the short wall at the back of the dining space. After flipping
through a pile of disks on a ledge below a large monitor, she slid
one into the slot on the side. She ran her fingers over the
keyscreen that appeared, and a three-dimensional map brightened
into view. The added color and light seemed to warm the grim
room.

“Here’s the Anaekta.” Cera tapped a narrow
band of ice surrounded by blue-green ocean. She widened the scene.
“The Maithlam Mountains are here.” She ran her finger in a downward
arc from the Anaekta Strait to the Maithlams. A heavy red line
traced her movement. Cera stepped back and studied the map. “It
could work.”

Brock moved to stand in front of the monitor
next to Cera. “Safer than Star Point, but not much.” He snorted and
shook his head. “If anything went wrong…”